


won't need the poison in my pocket

by croissantkatie



Category: Albert Campion - Margery Allingham
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croissantkatie/pseuds/croissantkatie
Summary: On paper, there are many things which should disqualify Magersfontein Lugg from holding the position of gentleman’s gentleman  -  and yet, here he is.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	won't need the poison in my pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marguerieteporete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerieteporete/gifts).



> with thanks to f for the beta and m for being my niche murder mystery buddy.
> 
> title from poison in my pocket from a gentleman's guide to love and murder.

On paper, there are many things which should disqualify Magersfontein Lugg from holding the position of gentleman’s gentleman. Surprisingly, his stature isn’t one of them. The broadness he has gained around his middle since entering into Albert Campion’s employ is entirely befitting of his position. Although it does make engaging in certain activities more difficult. Which brings us to his current predicament – Lugg was currently stuck in a dumb waiter. He is not entirely sure why he had to be the one to do this particular errand, after all, Mister Campion while not as lithe as in his younger years, still cuts a trimmer figure than Lugg. Mister Campion had claimed that his presence was required to provide a suitable distraction, and whilst Lady Amanda had offered herself up for the task with great enthusiasm, it was ruled that her skirts might provide too great an impediment.

Lugg’s gut, however, had not been considered a sufficient impediment. And so he is currently wedged in a chute between the kitchen and the dining room at Sir Something-or-other’s country manor. The majority of the events leading up to this moment had not been particularly unusual. Campion had been invited for a weekend of leisure and good old fashioned country air. The real motive behind coming to this particular gathering involved a series of antique vases, various forged invoices and several supposed sightings of a large wolf. So far both the vases and the wolf had been explained through the making of various inquiries (respectfully a series of lies about objects of art being “one of a kind” and an abnormally large pig decorated for the occasion), but the invoices remained a mystery. They had conducted a thorough, though discreet, search of the house to no avail.

And so, the dumb waiter. One of a handful of places a number of papers could be hidden which they hadn’t already checked. He hadn’t intended to climb into it as such, rather merely to stick his head in the shaft and have a look around. He had, however, seen a small strange lump on the inside of the shaft which was just out of reach. And so, being the dutiful manservant and loyal employee he was, Lugg had pushed himself and a small lantern further into the shaft. He had successfully ascertained that the lump was a small parcel, attached to the side with tape and had even managed to remove it. On trying to make his way back out to properly examine the papers, he had to his dismay, discovered he was stuck in a most ungainly position, both arms reached up over his head, one clasping the parcel and the other his lantern, unable to move downwards.

He huffed out a breath and attempted to assess his situation. This was after all not the first time he had been in such a position. It wasn’t even the first time he had been in such a position since he had entered Campion’s employ and (for the most part, at least where he could be seen) put the adventures of his youth behind him. The lantern posed a slight impediment - he didn’t dare let go of it for fear of it falling and burning himself. The parcel however did present a viable option. It was hardly a heavy package and would likely cause him minimal harm. With that decision made, he attempted to pull his arm back towards his body before letting go of the parcel, which fell with a muffled sound against his shoulder. His arm now free, Lugg attempted to push against the side of the shaft and gain some leverage to extricate himself from his position.

He huffed again. He just needed to be able to push backwards with his frame and forwards with his arm, and hope that there was enough movement in the sides of the dumb waiter shaft to allow him to wiggle his way to freedom. He could feel the flimsy metal sides moving ever so slightly and, face set in a look of determination, pushed, trying to make use of his legs as well. After some moments of pushing and attempting to contort his body, he was able to move several inches lower and his feet hit the bottom. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, knowing that the hardest part was over and that it should be relatively simple from this position to get back out again.

Now that he was free, Lugg removed himself from the dumb waiter with ease and dexterity. He was after all, a man with many skills which he had honed over the years. He hopped down to the floor before retrieving both the lantern and his prize. He tucked the package inside his jacket and assessed the situation. His suit had picked up a decent amount of grime from the inside of the dumb waiter but for the most part the black of his suit was hiding it, at least until he could change into something more respectable. His shirt collar however was likely a lost cause. He would have to go at it with some bleach later and hope for the best.

As he was turning to make his exit from the kitchen, to Lugg’s great misfortune, the cook reappeared. He had thought he was free clear for a while yet, but apparently not. He smiled and nodded at her, “Mrs Weatherby.”

“Mr Lugg,” she returned, frowning ever so slightly. “Can I get you something?”

“Ah, yes,” he replied. “Was just looking for a piece of bread or something, been feeling a bit peckish from all the work on the car Mr Campion’s been having me doing.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see you have smeared oil or something over yourself. I would appreciate it if you did not come into my kitchen in such a state. I keep a good clean kitchen I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, of course Mrs Weatherby, my apologies, I wasn’t thinking,” Lugg replied. Maybe the grime was a bit more noticeable than he’d thought, but at least she’d put it down to the car rather than anything else.

“Just don’t do it again Mr Lugg,” she reprimanded as she moved over to a side dresser and pulled out a piece of bread. “There you go, we don’t want you going hungry,” she added, her voice softening ever so slightly, before turning sharp again. “We don’t want the master seeing you in such a state, he’d be most displeased, you’d best go sort yourself out before you’re needed again.”

“Aye aye captain,” Lugg said with a nod and a smile before taking a bite of the bread and exiting the kitchen. Now he could go and check if this parcel was the invoices he’d been looking for, or if the family had some other secrets they felt the need to hide inside a dumb waiter. And, of course, he could go put on a clean shirt.


End file.
